


Bleeding Towers

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-11
Updated: 2003-09-11
Packaged: 2018-11-10 20:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11134278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Ray searches for Fraser in the midst of a tragedy.





	Bleeding Towers

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
Bleeding Towers

## Bleeding Towers

by Elizabeth Mc

Disclaimer: Due South and its characters belong to Alliance. 

Author's Notes: All mistakes are mine.

Story Notes: A personal tribute to the heroes of 9/11.

* * *

The reporter read from a teleprompter while she shuffled the papers in her hands. "In our continuing spotlight of Visitors Who Became Heroes on 9/11, I'd like to introduce our next guest, Detective Raymond Kowalski. Welcome, Detective." 

"Thank-you." Even being freakishly nervous, I remembered to look at her instead of the cameras. 

"You're actually a detective in Chicago, is that right?" 

"Yeah, that's right." 

"And you were in New York for vacation?" 

"Kind of. My partner was here on business and I came along for the scenery." 

"That would be Constable Benton Fraser?" 

"Yeah, that's right." 

"Can you tell us what happened that day?" 

* * *

"Yeah?" I rasped into the phone, barely lifting my head off the pillow. 

"Ray, I need you to wake up." 

"Fraser? What? Why? I'm on vacation." 

"Ray, please. I just...I need to tell you that I love you. I love you. Please turn on the television and stay where you are. Do not come here." 

I was sitting up by the first 'I love you'. My heart was in my throat by the second one. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Something's happened. I'm not certain yet. Just turn on the television, it's likely the media will have everything covered." 

"Have what covered? What are you talking about?' 

"I have to go. This may be our only opportunity. I'm on the 87th Floor, Ray. I love you." 

The phone disconnected. I cursed it and I cursed him and I scrambled across the covers to find the remote. The hotel was nice and the TV had a big screen. We'd been watching movies until late the night before. 

I clicked on the power button but I didn't have to turn channels. Peter Jennings was already making the announcements and the pictures were playing in the back. The World Trade Center buildings were burning, both of them, and Fraser was in one of them. I didn't know which, I mean, we were just here for a couple of days. Fraser was picking up something in some department for Thatcher and then we were going sight seeing. I tagged along just to see the city. I didn't have details. 

The fire was bad. Gaping holes in the sides of the buildings poured smoke into the air. Jennings was saying that people actually dove out of windows to get away from the flames. I just sat there, crouched on my knees, I'm sure my mouth was hanging open. I turned up the volume and learned that two planes had run into the buildings. Passenger jets. Jesus. And they were saying it was terrorists. 

Well, yeah, no kidding. 

Fraser's words came back to me, telling me to stay put, not to go there. Like hell. 

I pulled on my jeans while I stared at the screen. It was getting hard to breathe. I pulled a couple of shirts on then headed to the street without turning off the set. 

I stood on the sidewalk, looked in both directions and darted back inside the hotel. There were some basic street maps on the counter so I snagged one and then headed back out. 

I knew better than to try and get transport. Traffic looked like it was standing still and the cops would be locking the city down. I couldn't get the sight of the burning buildings out of my head. Fraser was in one of them. 

I studied the map, got my bearings and figured it wasn't too far. For the first time, I looked up. The dark smoke filling the air shocked me. I didn't need a map, I just needed to follow the smoke. 

It turned out I did need the map though. Between it and the emergency vehicles screaming passed me, I found my way, making it pretty close in about half an hour. Then I heard this rumble, it was like an earthquake. There were people everywhere, watching TV's inside store windows and listening to radios. I stopped to watch with a group around an electronics store. Some of the people were pointing and some had their hands over their mouths, they were mostly quiet except for some gasping and a few whimpers and then somebody started saying, "No, no, no", and I watched the shock of debris explode outward and it looked like part of one of the buildings caved in. But somebody said it was the whole building. They said the south tower collapsed. 

All I could think about was Fraser. I had to get there. And I was a lot closer than I realized. I reached the first police barricade almost before I saw it. I dug out my badge. 

"Let me through," I told the uniform. 

"No one's coming through," he said. 

"I'm a cop." 

"Not from here, you're not." 

"Hey, I'm a cop, I can help. You got more people than you need back there?" I would've said anything to get through. The cop thought about it. He thought too long and I was sure he was going to keep me out but then he waved me through. The rest of the crowd made some noise but I just went without looking back. 

The second rumble came just as I was coming around a corner. I'd been passing fire fighters and police and people and they all looked shell-shocked as they walked by me. They were dirty, sometimes clutching at each other, sometimes crying. Some of them were bleeding. 

We all stopped at the noise. It was surreal when the second building went down. It was like slow motion but not. It was like a disaster flick. I half expected to see Steve McQueen jog by, towards the danger with me instead of away like the crowd. 

I couldn't make myself go back. Every instinct for survival told me to go forward because if I didn't, then Fraser would be dead and I'd never survive without him. 

The noise was horrible. The building crashing, the metal and debris slamming into the ground sounded like bombs exploding. It was so loud I couldn't hear the people screaming or their feet against the ground. But my eyes supplied what my ears missed. 

I don't know if there was real quiet after the collapse. I know I couldn't hear anything, like all of a sudden the world went silent but then a second later, the noise was deafening. People were running at me, knocking into me. People in business clothes, people in jeans, people in uniforms and they were running and I was running, but I was going against them like breaking through the tide. 

That was until I saw the cloud. It wasn't billowy like smoke, it was more like a wall, solid, unyielding and black. The smell was like the way my grandfather's trash smelled back when people burned it themselves. It took a second to understand what I was seeing and a second more to dive under the nearest shelter, which turned out to be a police car. As soon as my body hit the pavement I found out I wasn't the only one under there. 

A cop, dressed in blues, with dark eyes and the smooth face of a kid stared at me. He was holding on to a woman who was screaming like crazy. The cop just held on to her no matter how much she struggled. I met his eyes and then the world went black as coal. I was pretty sure the three of us were dead, or if not, we would be soon because breathing stopped being possible. 

When light came again, it was hazy and gray and unreal. I could hardly get my eyes open because of all the grit covering them. I looked for the cop first. Hidden by dust and grime, it didn't look like he had a face, but he shimmied backward anyway, taking the woman with him. I backed out too, still trying to get a breath in the solid air. My chest hurt and my lungs burned from trying to breathe. The cop fumbled in his pocket while he kind of lurched towards the trunk. The woman whimpered like a broken rag doll and slipped to the ground with her back to the car. The cop opened the trunk and pulled out a gallon jug of water. He dumped some of it over his head, turning the grime into mud but clearing out his eyes. I just stood there watching like a spectator while he went to the woman next. While he poured some water over her face, she cried about her eyes burning. I don't know what he said to her but he handed the jug to me next. He had to. As far as I could tell, we were the last three people left in the world. 

By the time I got the grime out of my eyes and could start to see, the cop had his blue shirt off and was wiping his face. It looked wrong until my mind caught up and I realized he had ripped it in half and the woman was using the other side. I copied him, glad that I dressed in layers. 

It was still hard to breathe, still hard to see but it was pretty clear, we'd survived. Looking around, we could see other people coming out of the dirt, like macabre graves overturning. 

"Stay with her," the cop told me before he took his jug of water to start helping the others. 

It didn't take as long as it seemed before all of us started trekking back to the first emergency first aid we could find. I didn't want to go with these people. I still wanted to run headlong into hell because that's where Fraser was, but I couldn't desert this ragged troupe either. The woman who shared the underside of the police car needed help walking. A man, practically frozen with shock, needed to be guided in the right direction. The cop needed help keeping everyone organized and calm and moving. I couldn't desert them but my insides felt hollow. 

Once we reached help, I got an oxygen mask shoved on my face. For a while I sat on a curb, just breathing, but I gave the mask to somebody else as soon as I could. And then gradually our mini triage station filled up. 

Victims, samaritans, medical people, firefighters and cops all functioned in whatever capacity they could. My minimal cop training in first aid got me the job of putting on bandages, handing out water and blankets and rinsing out wounds. Every now and then, this nurse, her name was Charlotte, would stop me from whatever and make me drink water. 

All I could see was what was right in front of me. If I looked up, if I saw the smoke or the debris, then I'd start shaking and it would take some real concentration to keep working so I just looked at the faces or the body parts in front of me, dealt with them and moved to the next. 

When a contingent of firefighters marched passed, I made a dash for one of them. He glared at me when I grabbed his arm and who could blame him? I was a stranger and I was keeping him from his job. I let go but I started talking. 

"My partner was in the buildings. He's a Mountie so he'll be easy to spot. He's all dressed in red. His name's Fraser. He wears a big hat." 

"I'll keep an eye out, mister, but..." 

"He's not dead," I told him, reading the look in his eyes, automatically pissed off that he'd assume Fraser could die. 

"I'll look," he said and his eyes reflected pity before he walked away. 

Charlotte called to me then and I didn't have any choice but to go back to my post. There were people waiting, live people. 

Hours passed but time didn't matter. When Charlotte touched my shoulder, forcing me to look up, I glared at her. 

"It's time to go, Detective," she said. "We're going to take a break now." 

I shook my head. I felt too numb to move and besides, this was the closest I was going to get to the smoking ruins where Fraser was waiting. 

"You've been here long enough. Let's go someplace where we can look for your friend." 

I pointed in the direction of the billowing, black smoke. "He's there." 

"Maybe not. People got out, lots of people and he could very well be one of them." 

"He'd stay inside and help. That's how he is." 

"Come on, Ray, we're getting out of here. It's almost four-thirty." 

I shook my head. "Sorry. I'm staying." Then it hit me what she said. "Four-thirty...in the afternoon?" 

"They're saying the second tower went down at 10:30 this morning. You've been out here all this time." 

"Fraser called me a little after nine." 

"I'm sorry, Ray, but there's nobody walking away from the buildings now. Your friend isn't going to come this way." 

"He went a different way then cause Fraser does stupid stuff all the time but he never, never gets killed. He should, ya know, but it never happens, not to him." 

"Then you need to go back to your hotel and check messages. You need to start calling the Red Cross to see if he's registered anyplace. If he got out of the buildings, then you have to start looking for him and you can't do that here." 

She made sense. I couldn't stay on the street anymore. There were lots of people now to help the wounded and the ones in shock and to take care of the rescue people when they came walking back down the ash covered street towards us. They didn't need me anymore. But I did need to find Fraser. 

"Okay," I agreed even though the words felt like poison in my mouth. There was a part of me that felt like I was abandoning him by leaving even while another part thought I had to go if I was going to find him. 

Charlotte took my hand and led me to a paramedic truck. They had a man in the back with a bleeding forehead but they made room for us in the front. 

The drive back into the city felt strange. We didn't talk, no war stories to exchange, no hate-filled speeches about the bastards who did this, no guessing about what would happen next. We just sat quiet and drove through the city while ash and smoke rained down around us. 

When we got close to the hotel, Charlotte asked the driver to stop. They didn't go out of their way, they stayed on their course to the hospital, but she gave me some directions and I climbed out. 

I trudged forward on wooden legs until I reached the hotel. I couldn't get the stench of smoke out of my nose and it was making me sick. A couple of the hotel employees took one look at me and figured I was involved in the disaster so they gathered around me. They started asking questions but I couldn't focus on them and finally, their boss showed up. He shooed them out of the way, then asked me my room number. I fingered the key in my pocket because right then, I had no idea how to answer his question. I showed him the key and he glanced at the number then called to the receptionist behind the desk. 

"Order food for our guest and have it sent to his room right away, Margie." 

"Yes, sir, Mr. Arrow," she answered. "That's Detective Kowalski, he's sharing a room with Constable Fraser." 

I don't know if Arrow acknowledged her, but I heard him say that he'd walk me upstairs. I must've looked pretty rough to get that kind of treatment. 

He stayed with me on the elevator and all the way to my room. Then he used my key to let us in. 

Once inside, any hope I had about Fraser died. The television was still on, still blaring updates, but the room was empty. If he were alive, I knew he'd be waiting in our room for me. My stomach tightened and before I could think I was in the bathroom tossing up the water I'd consumed all day. All those faces that had been blank to me before came back in flashing neons of fear and despair and dirt and blood. They needed. Every last one of them needed comfort, care, and hope. From the professionals to the civilians they were all suffering. 

And with the suffering came information. The Pentagon had been hit too. Another plane went down in Pennsylvania but no one knew what happened to it or where it was going. A death toll predicted at 10,000 just in the towers alone. Their words, the words of all the people who sat in front of me seeking care or sat beside me seeking company washed through my head with every mouthful of water I took to cleanse away the dirt. 

A knock came on the bathroom door, interrupting the stream of faces. 

"Are you all right, Detective?" 

"Yeah, I'm just washing up. I'll be out in a sec." 

I don't know why I didn't tell him to leave. He was just a stranger, a nice enough guy I guess, but I didn't need anybody to hold my hand. I needed to get to work. I took another minute to wash my face and rinse out my hair. It was no wonder the staff fell on me when I got inside the lobby. I looked like something out of a volcano movie. I really needed a shower and a change of clothes. 

I came out of the bathroom to find the hotel guy staring out the window watching the towers bleed into the air. 

"I gotta make some calls," I told him. He turned to look at me with the same lost expression I'd seen in the mirror just a moment before. 

"You have messages." He nodded towards the phone showing a lit red light on the base. 

I flung myself at it, grabbing up the receiver and then stopping stupidly when there was nothing but a dial tone. 

The hotel guy started instructing me on how to pick up messages. 

The first message was from Thatcher. She sounded as worried as I've ever heard her. She'd been watching the news, she wanted to know if we were all right. We needed to call her right away. The second message was from Francesca Vecchio. She basically repeated what Thatcher said. The only difference was that Frannie sounded like she was crying. The third message was from Welsh. He just said to call him, he was worried. 

The last message was from Thatcher again. God help me, I almost deleted it because I was so disappointed that it wasn't Fraser's voice on the line. 

"Detective, a woman just phoned, a nurse, and she's with Fraser. They're at St. Vincent's Hospital, one-seven-zero West 12th Street. Get there as fast as you can and call me." 

I sat down, my legs folding under me. I'd been near Canal Street but I didn't know if that was close to Fraser or not. I looked up, needing Arrow again. 

"I need to get to St. Vincent's." 

"I'll get you a cab," he said, sounding relieved that he could help. 

* * *

The reporter shifted more papers. She looked at me and I couldn't help fidgeting as the memories came back in living color. I kept clenching my hands into fists and bouncing my leg up and down.

"So, this stranger, Mr. Arrow, he called a taxi for you and then sent you on your way to St. Vincent's." 

"Yeah, that's right." 

* * *

It was chaos. Hundreds of people; bleeding, scared, searching people. I could barely get through the emergency doors with all the doctors and nurses and cops pressed together. The cab had dropped me three blocks away with directions and I'd run from there. But, once I got inside, I was lost, couldn't get my bearings in the middle of everything. 

Not seeing any other way, I grabbed a nurse as she went by me. I startled her and she jerked her arm free. 

Ignoring her glare, I said, "I need help." 

"Sign in at the front." She pointed. 

"I'm looking for somebody who was brought here." 

"If they've been checked in, their name will be at the nurse's station." 

"My partner was brought here, a nurse called." 

The place was so loud I could barely hear her. People were pushing around us and past us, they were crying and yelling and sifting through each other, dismissing what they didn't need. 

"Check at the front desk," she said. 

"Where is it?" 

She sighed and pointed again. I turned to look, but there was nothing but shifting bodies. When I turned back, she was gone. A small group passed me and they were all hanging on to each other and sobbing and I could hardly breathe for a second. 

Then I shoved further inside where more victims and more workers crowded around me. There were people lying on gurneys and sitting in chairs and sitting on the floor. There was collective panic, and melancholy at the same time. People were letting out their emotions with silent tears and outright crying, with spurts of anger and desperation and with compassion too. 

Finally, I reached the area where a huge, rounded desk filled one side of the room. Surrounding it like clumps of anxiety were people looking for information. I got in what passed for a line, forcing myself not to scream and yell because no matter how much I needed to find Fraser, every person there had the same need. 

Hearing my name in the midst of all that was like hearing God. I spun around, thinking, even as I moved, that the sound must have come from inside my head. But, then Fraser was there, looking like a tarnished beacon. Not because he was dressed in red, his coat was gone leaving behind just his long-sleeved t-shirt and suspenders, but because he was the only hope in all that despair. 

"Oh, Jesus," I said and fell into him, dizzy and sick with emotion. Fraser pulled me close. "I thought you were dead." 

"I know. I...so many others...I..." The soft, broken words brought me out of my selfish relief and made me pull back to look at him. 

His face was clean but his neck and uniform bore the marks of dirt and dust and grime. His right hand was bandaged, from his wrist to his fingers. His eyes were liquid, his mouth was trembling. 

"Come on," I said, putting my arm around his waist and propelling us through the mass of insanity. 

I still don't know how we got outside but we did. I just knew that one moment, I couldn't breathe because of the press of bodies and the next, I could smell the smoke again. 

"Ray, I can't..." With that, Fraser collapsed on to the closest curb, stretching his legs out in front of him. He held his injured hand in his lap. 

I sat down beside him, putting my arm back around him. Fraser leaned to one side, nearly knocking me over but I took his weight, so glad to feel it. 

"Seven, Ray, I only got out with seven others. There were so many there." 

"You got out, Fraser, that's all that matters." 

"Only seven." 

"Seven is a big number today." 

I let Fraser have all the time he needed to get himself together before we stood up and walked to the street. Every now and then, one of us would turn to look in the direction of the empty space where the towers had stood and then we'd turn back and keep walking. We walked all the way back to the hotel. 

When we reached our room, I called Thatcher, gave her the good news and asked her to call Welsh and Frannie. After I hung up, I guided Fraser into the bathroom where I tied a plastic bag around his injured hand and then we took a long, hot shower together. We washed each other and held each other and when we were clean, we crawled into bed. 

Fraser turned on the news. We settled in and watched for hours, then we watched for days. 

* * *

"Constable Fraser declined our invitation to join you in this interview," the reporter said.

I nodded. "Yeah, I know." 

The world didn't need to hear that he doesn't like to talk about it. 

"He's hailed as one of the heroes of that day. He brought seven people, including himself, down from the 87th floor of the north tower, escaping just minutes after the south tower collapsed." 

"He says they all worked together." 

"He burned his right hand pulling debris out of their path, is that right?" 

"Yeah, they had to get around a lot of caved in walls and stuff. There was fire and smoke and he was plowing through it and then he picked up something that was still burning. One of the guys with him put it out." 

"Tell us what happened to his dress uniform." 

"There were six men including him and they were all wearing suits. The one girl with them was wearing a dress and I guess sparks were burning her so he took off his jacket and gave it to her." 

"It was that red jacket that saved them, wasn't it?" 

"Some firemen saw them just as they made the street. People were picking themselves up...out of the rubble of the south tower. Anyway, the serge is really bright and they got spotted. They all joined up together and sort of helped each other get out before the next tower went down." 

"And how is Constable Fraser now?" 

"He's good. His hand healed up." 

"You're also considered a hero, Detective, how do you feel about that?" 

I shrugged. "I was there. All I wanted to do was find Fraser, the rest of it just happened." 

"Have you visited Ground Zero?" 

"Yeah, we made a point to come back as soon as they started letting people. And we were here for the first anniversary." 

"What's it like to return?" 

"The first time it was overwhelming, mind blowing, ya know? It was hard to look at that hole in the ground and think that people worked there, that so many of them died there. Fraser remembers some of the faces that passed him, people that were going up instead of down...firemen...people that didn't get out." 

"And the anniversary?" 

"That didn't have the same feeling. I don't know if it was easier, it was just different. More like a memorial than the disaster. Still kind of hard to believe though." 

"A bit of disbelief?" She asked. 

"I guess." I looked away from her, ready to be finished with remembering for a while. 

"Well, I'd like to thank you for coming here today and sharing your story. Please thank Constable Fraser as well." 

"I will. Thanks for having me." 

The interview ended. I unclipped the microphone, shook the reporter's hand and stepped off the small plateau where we had talked. The producer shook my hand too but all I could see was Fraser, waiting behind the cameras. 

* * *

End Bleeding Towers by Elizabeth Mc:

Author and story notes above.


End file.
